


Dangers of Dating the Dragonborn

by Nudebeme



Series: Chac and Cicero [27]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nudebeme/pseuds/Nudebeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Such power he wields, but so careful he is around the ones he loves most. But no matter how careful the dragonborn is, there is times where even he cannot temper his gift. A small ficlet for those who love Cicero, or love to hate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t a little noise that woke him up, it was a scary, deep and startling kind of noise…one that Cicero was well acquainted with, but at this hour? There was a tremendous heat emanating from the elf who slept beside him, utterly encasing the little jester as he always did while they slept. Uncomfortable and uneasy, Cicero peeled away slightly to take a bleary look at his companion, Chac. 

The look on his sleeping face was troubled, his mouth slack and emitting the most haunting of moans. “Puh..Listener.. such a draugr you are.” Cicero peeps, running his palm across the sweating skin of Chac’s cheek. Another nightmare, something they both are cursed with, Cicero understood. With a sense of purpose, he sought to carefully wake his lover. 

The moan grew to what Cicero could only describe as a howl, the Imperial pulling his hand away, startled. Chac’s body suddenly thrashed, powerful limbs flailing before his Void-black eyes opened wide-

“ _VEN GAR NOS!!”_

Cicero didn’t have time to even react before his body, and everything behind him, was thrown into a violent rush of power and wind. He screamed, Chac coming to and watching as the Imperial’s little body went spinning into the air, slamming into the ceiling before dropping down like dead meat onto the stone floor. Silent. Glass hit the wall, shattering on impact and notebook pages fluttered in the air as the cyclone dissipated. 

"Cicero! By the gods!" Chac yelped, scrambling to the edge of the bed to see the nude ginger face down with his arms twisted above him. He didn’t respond, and Chac’s heart damn near stopped. Leaping off the bed, he fell to the mans side, turning him over carefully.

"Cicero, speak to me! Open your eyes!" 

A breath of relief. Cicero’s brown, bewildered eyes slowly opened and focused on the elf, Chac noticing a large open gash on his hairline that wept fresh blood down his face. 

"Oh gods, you’re alive. Cicero, speak to me.."

"Unn…nnggugh…" 

..that was good enough. Chac carefully hoisted the man into his arms and crawled them back to the bed, laying him down and checking his arms for broken bones. Nothing seemed wrong, but Cicero looked entirely bewildered, lifting his head weakly off the bed before falling back down with defeat. 

"Let me clean you off, Cicero I’m  _so sorry.”_ Shouting in his sleep once served a purpose, but now he was mortified. Chac ran to gather a rag, dipping it in cool water before coming to Cicero’s side, gently dabbing at his giant wound. He flinched and whined, and Chac ultimately felt the need to baby the man who didn’t deserve this punishment. 

"Muh..Mother? Is that you?"

"No, Mother isn’t here. You hit your head.. how many fingers am I holding up?"

Cicero’s eyes seemed to squint when Chac held up three, and the Imperial merely grunted “are you  _suuure_  you’re not Mother?” 

Sithis help him. Chac wiped the man’s face and ran a healing spell across his forehead. Cicero seemed to sigh delightedly, eyes closing and staying that way. There was nothing left but a red line on his skin now.. Chac took one of the man’s soft hands into his own and rubbed it dotingly. 

"That’s right..just rest." Chac cooed, turning to look at the wreck of his bedroom. " _fuck me”_ he groans, the place was an absolute mess. Memories of watching Cicero hit the ceiling haunted him. When he looked closely, he could even see the spatter of blood on the ceiling where he made impact. He hated himself right then. 

Chac moved to sit crosslegged beside the bed, stroking Cicero’s hand until he was sure the concussed man was asleep again. He can only hope tomorrow the crazy man knows that his Listener didn’t mean to hurt him.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door. Chac normally was a light sleeper, but after what happened last night, having to clean up his mess after wrecking his room in a nightmare...Chac was tired. The knock came again, soft and low to the ground..Chac turned in his bed and groaned, until he heard a little voice.

“Listener? I think you need to come out here.”   
Chac's eyes flew open, bewildered, looking over to see that the empty space where Cicero once was is now empty, the bloody rag at the endtable still in plain sight. Chac wrapped his headscarf around his naked waist and shuffled his way to the door, still half asleep and clueless. Opening it just a crack, he peered down at the sight of Babette with her arms crossed, looking up at him with a soured expression. 

“What's going on?” Chac croaked.

“It's Cicero. He's acting weird.”

'What else is new?' is what Chac would have said, until he remembered exactly what happened last night, Cicero hitting the ceiling and bashing his head on the stone, how he was entirely confused the rest of the night. Chac grunted “Just wait there, I'll get myself dressed.” and soon he was throwing a rich, green shirt over his head, slipping into his slacks and shoes. Worry began to set in, what could Cicero possibly be doing to render that comment from Babette? 

The vampire led him down the hall, feeling the need to at least steel the Listener for what he's about to see. “I'm going to tell you this now, I tried getting him to move, but he won't. No one else has seen him yet.”

Chac felt disheartened. When they came up towards the Sanctuary's entrance where the Night Mother's coffin resided, Chac and Babette snuck up behind them and into sight of Cicero. Chac gasped, seeing Cicero sloppily dressed in his sleeping clothes (ones he did not have on the last time Chac had seen him) and barefoot on his knees before the open coffin, running his bare hands down the Night Mother's legs. 

“He's been doing this for about 10 minutes now ever since he came in. I can't get him to move, and he won't talk to me.” 

Chac huffed, and worriedly made his way to Cicero's side. Normally a perfectionist in his work, there was oil utterly strewn about the place, all over the floor and soaked into the cloth on his knees. Chac carefully brought his hand to Cicero's shoulder and shook him, whispering his name while Babette watched at his side.

“Cicero...can you tell me what you're doing?”

He didn't speak to Babette, but Cicero always answered to Listener. 

“Mother needs tending, don't you see? And who else will care for our sweet lady but Cicero?”

“But Cicero...you're making a mess. Don't you see that?” Babette never heard the Listener speak so softly, as if to a disturbed child. Cicero didn't seem to acknowledge that fact, but he looked up into the Listener's eyes, and was shocked to see his wide pupils, his forehead swollen where Chac healed him last night. 

Chac carefully pulled the little man away from his station, Cicero disturbingly enough as placid as a lamb, being hoisted up to stand. Half of the buttons of his sleeping tunic where undone, and he swayed in the Listener's careful grasp. “Come here and sit down, you're not well.”

“But Mother...”  
“Mother isn't going anywhere, she can wait. You can't take care of her in this condition. Babette, could you get me some water for him to drink?” Chac's fatherly tone touched the vampire somehow, doing as she was told. When she was gone, Chac ran his fingers through Cicero's hair, pulling it away from his forehead, the man's eyes barely focusing on anything. When he ran his fingertips along the scar on his head, Cicero openly whimpered. Chac felt like absolute shit then, this was clearly his fault. 

“Oh, Cicero..it hurts? My poor little prince.” 

Chac went silent when Babette returned with a glass pitcher, looking with intrigue when Cicero took it with his oil-slicked hands, being told to drink. Cicero did, eyes squinting shut as he took one big gulp after the next, his toes curling in discomfort. 

“What do you think happened to him?” Babette asked, and then was shown the large swelling on his hairline.

“He hit his head last night.” Chac didn't divulge how or why, but he felt he didn't need to. “I found him on the floor, and I put him to bed, but...”

Cicero's nauseated groan silenced them both. There was a span of a few moments where the man sheepishly looked at them both, before abruptly projectile vomiting at least 3 feet in front of him. Chac and Babette yelped and backed away, pointing to the garden that Babette kept. “Hurry, go get the bucket! He's going to blow again-”

Cicero held his lips behind his bare arm and his cheeks puffed out, Babette running to his side with the bucket she used to gather her plants. He gave it to Cicero, who held it between his knees before hurling back all the water he'd just drank. The smell of bile and sick filled the air, and Chac's hands pulled back his auburn hair and held it fast while the nauseous man spat into the bucket. 

“Fuck. He's not doing well at all.” Chac hissed, Babette stepping away and starting to see a side of their relationship she'd never seen before. She watched Listener place his hand over Cicero's sweating forehead, feeling his heat, wiping away the stream of tears of effort that ran down the madman's cheek. What was going on here?

Cicero made something of an “urp” noise, looking up and smiling stupidly at the Listener, muttering a happy “It's all done.” before slunking forward in his seat, head between his knees and fingers interlaced above him. Chac rubbed his back before stepping over the spray of puke on the floor, going to Babette's alchemy table.

“Do you have any blisterwort, or impstool?” 

Babette didn't, but her eyes lingered on their mother's keeper, listening to his shallow breath. She saw his bare arms for the first time, line after line of pale and raised scars that started at the crook of his elbows and ended at the wrists. Something inside her jaded heart stirred, moreso then after noticing Chac's worry. Part of her thought that maybe Cicero had purposely hit his head because he was hurting in other ways.

“Gods damn it. I tried a healing spell on him, but obviously that didn't work. I'm going to have to go into town and find some.”

Babette faltered for a moment, before offering advice. “Vampire dust might help...of course, not MY dust.” 

“Ugh.” was the first thing Cicero muttered, before going silent again.

“Let me get Cicero cleaned up and in bed. Babette, make sure he doesn't go near the Night Mother until then.”

Babette nodded, watching Chac close the coffin before coming to Cicero's side, lifting the Imperial clean out of his chair and into his arms. Cicero instinctively wrapped his arms around his secret lover's shoulders, resting his chin on the elf's strong back. Babette followed them both, until they made it halfway down the stairs.

“URK!” Cicero gurgled, before surprising all three of them with another volley of puke that ran down Chac's back and onto the stairs behind them. 

“Um..Listener...He-”

“I'm aware of that. Don't worry about it.” Listener hurriedly spoke, bringing the Imperial to his private chambers, Babette noticing the lavish amounts of stuff in his room. Babette threw open the blankets to his plush bed, and Chac lowered him into it, even going out of his way to comb back his red hair. 

“I'll take care of everything from here. Thank you, Babette...please, tell no one what you've seen here.” 

“As you wish, Listener. Get well, Cicero.” Babette sighed, finding a newfound sympathy for her brother. Closing the door, Chac was alone with the man he'd hurt so badly. Chac threw off his filthied shirt, going to grab the Dwarven bowl they'd plundered not months ago, setting it at his bedside in case Cicero got sick again. Chac gathered water and cloth, kneeling at his bedside and opening his dirty clothes, pulling off his oily pants. 

Cicero muttered something, his eyes closed. 

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“...mmm...no..” He whispered back, feeling foggy. Chac felt sad. Being hurt seems to be a recurring theme in the poor man's life. 

“I'll tell you when you feel better.” Chac began the painful process of wiping Cicero's chin, rubbing the oil from his hands, making sure he was tended to. Going to open his door, Chac blew out the torchlight, leaving Cicero's room almost entirely dark. 

“Where are you going, Listener?” 

Chac knelt again beside his bed, rubbing Cicero's chest dotingly. He didn't want to leave, but he had to make him better. “I'm going to find medicine for you, I want you to stay here, alright? If you need anything, call for Babette, and don't go up the stairs, do you hear me?” 

“of course..”

Chac fumbled with what he would say next, but he knew what to do. Leaning over the distance, he kissed Cicero's cheek, and then his nose. 

“I love you.”

“...I love you too, Listener.” Cicero's eyes peeped open, raising a weary hand and stroking Chac's bare arm. He remembered that. He watched until Chac stood and left the room before letting himself sleep, feeling confused and ill. Within the minute he was out cold, Chac donning his cloak and making for Dawnstar to set things right...


End file.
